


Elise

by Dibria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 04:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dibria/pseuds/Dibria
Summary: Harry has never been comfortable with who he is, everyone else seems happy in their own skin, so why does a stranger stare back from the mirror?





	Elise

**Author's Note:**

> I write in run on sentances, overuse commas and have a poor history of finishing stories - if you can deal with those then read on.

A cold breeze swept through dark empty corridors causing the sparse ever burning candles to gutter. The air moaned as it pushed its way through cracks between lead lined windows and uneven stonework bringing with it the sharp bite of the winter air into the castle. The only other sound in the abandoned hallways of half past three in the morning was the soft padding of Harry Potter’s feet as he walked aimlessly around the dark castle.

The ancient stone was deathly cold and Harry deeply regretted not putting his shoes on, or his socks for that matter, but it had been so warm in Gryffindor tower surrounded by hearty fires that the cold of the rest of the castle was almost a surprise. His feet had now become so cold his toes were blocks of numb pain as he wished desperately for at least some carpet. Harry had never been to this part of the castle before, at least he didn’t think he had, it was sometimes hard to tell with the identical looking suits of armour and paintings that were by the dungeons one day and chatting to a friend near the charms classroom the next.

He wasn’t lost per se, he knew if he turned around he would reach the main staircase fairly quickly, and carpets, blessed blessed carpets, thick fabric that insulated the stone with its beautiful softness.

No not lost but he was listless, he pulled his new invisibility cloak tight around himself to ward off some of the cold, or was that old invisibility cloak? It was inherited so it wasn’t technically new, but it was new to him... New-old invisibility cloak? It had been a christmas present from an anonymous benefactor who claimed to be keeping it safe for Harry’s father until he was old enough to have it himself.

Frankly the thing was a godsend. Living in a dorm room with three boys since september had been trying for Harry, having always had a room of his own - even if that room had technically been a cupboard for all but the most recent parts of his life - Harry was adjusting poorly to communal living space.

Harry needed privacy, some time when he was not around other people, and walking around at half past three in the morning was what felt like the first time Harry had been able to breathe fully in months. Harry loved his friends, really he did, but a small part of him had been disappointed when Ron had said that he too was staying for the christmas holidays. Not that he didn’t want Ron around, having Ron around certainly beat three weeks of total isolation, he had encountered too much of that at the Dursleys, but some time alone would have been nice.

Harry guessed this must be what it felt like to be spoiled; both wanting and not wanting something at the same time, much like Dudley with toys, only for Harry it was time with his friends.

The biggest issue Harry had though was the bathroom situation.

Harry was not comfortable with communal bathing in the least, the shower cubicles had only thin curtains separating them from the rest of the room and the bathroom was shared between the boys in years one through four.

They all seemed so comfortable, so happy in their own skin.

Harry hated his body, it had never felt right to him - as if when he was born there had been a que to decide what body you got and Harry had somehow been at the back and had to take whatever was left. He doubted any of his friends or other yearmates looked in the mirror and saw a stranger staring back at them, completely dissociated from anything he thought of as being ‘Harry’.

But not his eyes, he loved those, especially how they looked like his mother's.

Harry had spent hours that day staring at photographs of his mother in the photo album Hagrid had sent him, the way she smiled and laughed and her eyes sparkled with joy in every photo - even the one where she was shouting at Harry’s father and another man as they ran away from her.

Harry’s eyes missed the sparkle though, Harry had the vibrant green, the beautifully feminine almond shape and delicate eyelashes, but not the joy his mother’s had.

He wished he had her sparkle, her hair, her features... hell he wished he was her. She seemed happy in her body, everyone in the photographs seemed drawn to her, she didn’t have to shower in a room full of boys and hide herself with her towel in embarrassment as everyone else mocked her for not being happy walking around nude.

It was at this point in his thoughts Harry caught sound of light humming coming from a classroom up ahead in the corridor, it’s door ever so slightly ajar and light dancing along its edges.

Harry tiptoed, as well as he could on cold and painful feet, until he was almost at the door. He reached out carefully with one hand, making sure his cloak was held tight around it and did not raise off the ground to reveal his feet. He pressed gently against the old wood of the door and it gave very slowly on its ancient hinges until he had just enough space to look through.

“Do come inside, peering through the door like that you will let the heat out.” Harry was startled by the voice, stood in front of the door as if expecting him was Albus Dumbledore, who was, to Harry’s amazement, staring him straight in the face despite his cloak.

Dumbledore took a hold of the door from the inside and gently motioned for Harry to enter, the headmaster was smiling lightly, not a broad grin but the kind of smile that showed genuine amusement at some private joke.

Seeing no other option now he was caught Harry walked into what turned out was a disused classroom. Windows lined one wall, old murky glass suspended in a crosshatch of lead gave a dim view of the grounds while desks and chairs were piled up against the wall below them. The teacher’s desk was still in place and was scattered with parchment covered in calculations and prose in alphabets and languages Harry had never seen before.

Harry gravitated toward the lit fireplace stepping around a partially covered object to do so, he wondered what the etiquette was for being caught after dark by your headteacher while wearing an invisibility cloak? Was he supposed to take it off? Clearly Dumbledore could see him but did it strain him? Was Harry being rude by keeping it on? Or would it be rude to take it off? Like barging into someone's home and taking your coat off without having been invited in?

Once Harry had entered Dumbledore closed the door and move to perch on the edge of the desk and look over his half-moon spectacles at Harry, “So mister potter, are you a night owl or an early bird I wonder?”

Harry blinked at the question in incomprehension, was he asking what time he would rather have detention for being caught out of bed? Morning or night? “What do you…” Harry trailed off and decided to at least remove the cloak from his head, it made talking strange and felt very rude, “What do you mean sir?”

Dumbledore’s smile twitched slightly as if he was consciously stopping it from spreading, “I am simply wondering Mr Potter whether you have been to bed already and come for an early morning stroll, or have yet to go to bed and are enjoying a late night walk.”

“Oh.” Harry responded dumbly, “I er… I haven’t been to bed yet.”

The headmaster's eyes twinkled, “A kindred soul! Neither have I, far too much to do to waste my nights on sleep, alas as I age my body increasingly disagrees but the odd night here or there while working on something exciting will have to do.” As he said this Dumbledore walked over to the sheet covered shape in the centre of the room and ran a hand over it gently.

Harry nodded politely, not really understanding, “You are working on something sir?”

Dumbledore nodded, “An old project of mine, adapting the work of an old friend to keep something safe,” he tailed off for a moment staring at something only he could see long enough that Harry wondered if the room were not full of people under invisibility cloaks only Dumbledore could see through. He shook his head as if clearing it for a moment, “Fortunately it was never needed and so I have never finished it… you saw to that.”

Harry felt as if Dumbledore's eyes were boring right through his very soul, seeing through him in a way the invisibility cloak could never hope to hide him from, “I did sir?”

Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled in a manner not dissimilar to the way Harry’s mothers did in the photographs, “Indeed, we were planning to hide a certain object from Lord Voldemort…”

Harry let out a surprised squeak at hearing someone actually say Voldemort's name, he had barely heard anyone use it at all since coming to the school. Dumbledore seemed to have trailed off in response and was observing him over his half moon spectacles, “Sorry sir, you surprised me, no one else says his name.”

Dumbledore's voice was soft, authoritative in a grandfatherly way, “Never apologies for being surprised Harry, usually the fault lies with the one whom surprised you,” He waited a moment for Harry to nod his understanding, “That said I must also say that fear begets fear - fearing the name only increases the fear of the thing itself, every time you say ‘he-who-must-not-be-named’ or ‘you-know-who’ you grant his memory a kind of power over you, a victory he never earned. Do you understand what I’m saying Harry?”

Harry nodded slowly, “If we are scared of his name he is never really gone?”

“Precisely!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together gleefully, “We must not forget altogether of course, ‘those whom do not learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them’ after all, but it is important to remember that you gain nothing through fear of things which you cannot avoid or have already happened.”

“Things you cannot avoid sir?” Harry wondered aloud.

“Indeed, let us say that something is happening next tuesday that you particularly dread, if you can take action to prevent that dreaded event, or make it less dreadful then you should do so. If you cannot change it then what can you gain by fearing it?”

There was a lengthy silence as Harry pondered what Dumbledore had said, one which the elderly headmaster seemed quite content to sit through, observing Harry’s expression for signs of understanding.

“That seems very wise sir.” Harry answered eventually.

Dumbledore simply smiled again in response, “Alas, wise as it may seem it is much harder to put into effect, I still dread my staff meetings every tuesday - Minerva really does drag them out these days.”

Harry giggled and the professor, Ron had been right about him, genius - but definitely barmy.

“Now,” He said, turning slightly away from Harry to look at the covered object again, “If you will excuse me a moment Harry our short conversation has allowed me a glimpse of inspiration.”

Harry watched as his thin fingers manipulated his wand in intricate patterns that must have required more dexterity than a concert pianist; sublet twists and casual flicks blended into sharp curves and slow jabs. Harry imagined he could see an entire orchestra being expertly conducted by the headmasters movements, a concerto of magic he wished he could see flying around the covered object.

After a few minutes however Harry began to feel awkward, as interesting as it was to watch Dumbledore work the fire had now warmed the numbness from Harry’s feet and they were objecting to standing still for so long. Would it distract Dumbledore if he got one of the chairs from the side of the room? Or should he perhaps just leave?

Just as he was plucking up the courage to excuse himself Dumbledore slowed to a stop and took a step back from his work, the expression on his face was one Harry had never seen on him before, a sort of quiet satisfaction in a job well done or a puzzle solved, “...afraid of that which you cannot evade indeed…” he muttered.

Harry shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, “Umm…” he began awkwardly.

Dumbledore looked at him in what seemed almost to be surprise, “Oh I am sorry Harry, I do get absorbed in my work sometimes, but I think I may have finally completed my little project.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, hoping the question was not impertinent.

“Ah, I never did finish explaining it to you did I? The memory fades with age I’m afraid, I offer you my apologies for leaving the conversation half finished that way… I believe I informed you it was a hiding place?”

Harry nodded, “It was never finished because of me.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought and made a noise of quiet contemplation, “Well not necessarily because of you directly... but because of what happened that Halloween night all those years ago.” with a flick of his wand Dumbledore conjured two comfortable looking wingback chairs next to the fire, taking one for himself and indicating Harry to the other, “I had been a long held belief of mine that Voldemort,” He politely ignored Harry’s slight flinch, “had begun to make preparations to prevent his own death, delving deeply into the dark arts in his effort to find a solution. What he had not relied on however was the ingenuity of your mother.”

Dumbledore gazed intently into his eyes again, that sparkle he so admired bouncing playfully at the edges, “My mother sir?”

“Indeed, I had confided this belief to her in a private discussion when your parents took you into hiding, it was that conversation which led to his ultimate defeat at her hands.” His gaze seemed to move past Harry to stare again at something only he could see, “She was a rare genius your mother, it was a blood protection that defeated him you see; very old, very powerful magic, a type only a mother can truly bestow.”

His gaze found Harry’s again, “She sacrificed her own life in an act of selfless love so that her child could live, if you only ever learn one thing about magic Harry let it be this - intent is everything, the more powerful the intent the more powerful the spell.” His voice held a kind of sad passion and loss now, “Can you imagine Harry? Can you think of any intention or emotion that could come close to rivalling a mother's desire to protect her child? Can you think of a single thing she would not give?”

Harry was silent, honestly he had no idea, to hear that his mother loved him that much filled his heart with a wonderful kind of melancholy happiness, but it felt detached - something he was told about but did not feel for himself.

Dumbledore continued, returning to his more relaxed professorial tone, “It would not have been enough however, Voldemort’s killing curse rebounded and struck him but his dark magic held and he did not die, instead being reduced to a wraith, a soul with no living body to carry it - he tried to bind to the one other living thing there,” His smiled at Harry softly, “But your mother’s protections were far stronger than he was, especially so weakened - so he fled.” Dumbledore leant back in his chair, “As far as the edges of the property which your mother had warded to retain any such wraith or spirit, unable to leave he was captured, interrogated and resides now in Azkaban.”

Harry blinked, he had sort of known this of course, it was explained in less detail to him as soon as he had stepped foot into the magical world - how his mother was one of the greatest witches to ever live, a genius cut down in her prime, the next Dumbledore in the making. But the details were blurred, she had done the impossible - she had defeated the killing curse. The feat that had gained instant fame for both her and her son at the cost of her life.

For a long time Harry was silent, so many questions came to mind that it was impossible to choose which to ask, outside the wind howled and the windows shuddered in response, “How do you imprison a wraith sir?” Harry finally asked, “Surely it would slip between the bars.” As soon as he had said it regret filled him and his ears flushed red with embarrassment, he knew what he meant but that question sounded so silly!

Dumbledore did not laugh however, he merely smiled softly, “Indeed it would, so to answer your question Harry I would say… with great difficulty.” Dumbledore paused to think for a moment, “It was no small feat moving the wraith from your parents house to start with, your mother had made an impressive barrier which we were loathe to interact with lest Voldemort find a gap and flee. Eventually we settled on sealing it within something else, though what that was I cannot tell you for security reasons. The wraith was then transferred first to the ministry where interrogations were performed - again with great difficulty, and then to Azkaban.”

Dumbledore stood and looked out of the window, “It was an abrupt end to a long and bloody war, it had been expected that without their leader the Death Eaters would fight on and we began to prepare for that, but fortune smiled on us. A fair few Death Eaters were not at all loyal but simply too scared of Voldemort not to assist him, when he was captured they cut deals and the whole Death Eater organisation fell apart… though not soon enough for some of us.” The old man looked weathered and beaten to Harry in that moment, gazing through the murky window with distant eyes.

Suddenly Dumbledore spun around and his eyes regained some of their sparkle - but his smile, Harry noticed, was not quite as broad as before, “However his defeat and subsequent capture that night meant the plan was no longer required and my project has been gathering dust.” With a flourish Dumbledore pulled the sheet and uncovered an ornate mirror.

It was a tall free standing mirror surrounded by a delicately carved wooden frame coated in gold leaf, the arched top beared the carving ‘erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi’. Harry was distracted from it however as Dumbledore, who had been stood in front of it, reeled back as if struck and looked away, his eyes glassy.

“Sir?” He asked, “Are you ok?”

Dumbledore took a deep breath and glanced at Harry and away again, his eyes saddened, “Quite well Harry, quite well, I was simply a little careless after the conversation we were just having I should have realised… well…” Straightening his robes a little he addressed Harry more directly, “Nothing to worry about, simply an old Man's regrets, the reflection of my robes was a little too much for my old eyes to deal with, no wonder Minerva is always telling me to tone down the colours.”

Harry didn’t doubt for a moment Professor McGonagall said that, compared to Dumbledore's often flamboyantly coloured robes she wore a far more tame pallette. Today though, Harry noticed, today Dumbledore’s robes where a rather sedate - for him at least - sky blue.

“Come Harry,” Dumbledore beckoned, “come look into the mirror and tell me what you think.”

Harry walked over to the mirror, leaving his cloak over the arm of the chair Dumbledore had conjured for him, and eagerly looked in. He had no idea what to expect from a magic mirror but Harry was decidedly underwhelmed.

“It’s just a normal mirror sir.” Harry told him sadly, glancing back at the professor who smiled softly at him.

“A normal mirror you say? Hmm… aren’t you wise for your age.” He chuckled lightly, “Harry, the happiest man in the world could use it as a normal mirror, for most of us though it is a trap and a folly.”

Harry looked back at his reflection and studied it more carefully, “But I just see me sir, what do you see?”

Dumbledore was silent for a very long time, “You know Harry, I have been asked that before and I deflected the answer but I think you of all people deserve a real answer, I think you may understand.” He walked slowly over and gazed into the mirror beside him, Harry could see the restrained emotion on Dumbledore's face as he was clearly forcing himself to look, “I see those I have lost Harry, stood around me. Those who died, those that lost their minds to war, those that I failed Harry. Old students,” His eyes traced a point Harry couldn’t see in the mirror, “Lovers,” His eyes moved to another spot, “Family… the list goes on, there are so many of them Harry.”

Harry looked into the mirror again, “It shows our regrets? Do I see myself because I’m young - I certainly regret things.”

Dumbledore shut his eyes and shook his head slowly, as he did Harry could see moisture glistening at the corners of his closed eyes, “No Harry, this mirror shows not your reflection, but your deepest desires… For me that is to see all those I have lost, happy and alive.”

Harry thought for a moment, “That’s a really kind desire professor, to wish not for your own happiness but for that of others.”

Dumbledore did not reopen his eyes but patted Harry on the shoulder, “It is kind of you to say so Harry but it is selfish for reasons I see them, selfish reasons that you may not yet understand.” He let go of Harry and moved back away from being in front of the mirror, “I hope you never will, but it was for this reason I worked with the mirror covered.”

Harry allowed him time to recover his thoughts by walking up to the mirror to study his reflection in greater detail, surely he had some desires? He wanted not to live with his Aunt and Uncle, he wanted to win the Quidditch cup, he wanted not to have professor Snape for potions. Perhaps the mirror just wasn’t working for him? Or maybe his reflection was subtly different?

Harry had a spark of realisation, “Professor! I know what’s different about my reflection in this mirror!”

Dumbledore, who had perched on one of the disused desks behind the mirror rather than use the conjured chairs before it looked on intrigued, “Indeed? So you do have desires then? Please, if it’s not too personal do share - I am most curious what you would not have noticed.”

Harry smiled, “It’s me!”

Dumbledore frowned, “I’m quite afraid I do not follow.”

Harry looked back at his face in the mirror, and extending a hand, ran his fingers over the cool, smooth glass, “My reflection! It’s of me!”

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, “You do not normally see yourself in mirrors?” He asked softly, not mockingly as Harry might have expected, but with a note of genuine curiosity.

Harry shook his head, “I see my reflection but… it’s always wrong, I’m not sure how to explain it…” He paused taking in his reflected eyes, the perfect copy of his mothers; the long eyelashes, the almond shape, the intense green, “It always seems like a stranger looking back at me, not ‘Harry’ at all.”

“And your reflection now is different, it feels like you?” Dumbledore asked, moving to stand next to the mirror, careful not to move in front of it, to better watch Harry’s expression as he gazed happily into the mirror.

He nodded, “It’s different… I look mostly the same but… it feels different.”

Dumbledore crouched slightly, his knees popping as he did so, to be at Harry’s eye level, “May I ask you an impertinent question Harry?”

Harry broke his gaze away from his reflection to look at Dumbledore, “Sir?”

“Would you permit me to cast a spell to let me see what you can see in the mirror?” Dumbledore had expected resistance, it was after all a very invasive question, but to his surprise Harry had nodded enthusiastically.

He straightened to his full height again and waved his wand over the mirror, muttering incantations before walking around beside Harry and almost laughed. So, Harry could not tell what the difference was? It was obvious to him but the repercussions were no small matter, he would have to get Madam Pomfrey to contact St. Mungos and send over a specialist… he wondered if Cerina was still the head…

“Sir?” Dumbledore jumped slightly as Harry broke him from his thoughts.

“I apologise Harry, I was struck by something as I looked at your reflection, do you truly not know what the difference is?” He watched Harry over his half moon spectacles as he looked back into the mirror and back at him before shrugging.

Dumbledore waved his wand and conjured a second mirror to stand next to the Mirror of Erised, “Look carefully Harry, tell me do you still feel disconnected from the reflection in this mirror?” He asked pointing to the new, non-magical, mirror.

Harry looked at his reflection in the new mirror but before he had even said anything Dumbledore could tell, he did not like the reflection he saw there, it was alien to him, not who he felt he was. “Yes sir, I don’t like that reflection at all.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Now, side by side, can you tell me what the difference is?”

Harry looked back and forth between the two mirrors many times, Dumbledore could tell the moment he realised as Harry suddenly flushed bright red in embarrassment and tried to back away. Dumbledore motioned gently for him to stay, “You see the difference now?” Harry nodded, staring intently at his feet, “Do you feel embarrassed?” another nod, “Why?”

The simple question startled Harry enough to make him look Dumbledore in the eye again, and for a moment he caught a glimpse of fear, shame and confusion in those green eyes, “Because,” he muttered quietly looking away again, “Because I’m not… I’m not…”

The silence trailed on, Harry seemed to have no desire to finish his reply, Dumbledore sighed, “Aren’t you? Your reflection says differently, remember this mirror shows what’s deep in your heart - you cannot lie to it and it will not lie to you, say it Harry, what is the difference”

Harry continued to stare at his feet.

Dumbledore spoke softly, deliberately and as encouragingly as all his years of dealing with children could manage, “Do not feel shame or embarrassment Harry, it is only us here and I know the answer already, you simply need to let yourself acknowledge it, and do so with pride, what is the difference Harry?”

Slowly Harry looked up, not at Dumbledore but at the two mirrors, pointing to the conjured mirror he said, “In that mirror I’m a boy,” he changed to point at the mirror of Erised, “in that one I’m… a girl.”

**Author's Note:**

> This idea formed in my head as a response to the number of 'sudden sex change' stories I have seen, a couple of which stated that Harry was transgender in their story but had him drink a potion/cast a spell in the first chapter, said 'he's happy as a girl now' and never mentioned it again. I am not myself transgender, nor do I have any close friends who are, but I felt this rather undersold something that is, from everything I have read and heard, very difficult to address.
> 
> The story somewhat morphed in my head over time though so I have a lot of other elements planned to the story than just Harry being transgender, I do plan to keep it at the forefront though. Just don't expect chapter 2 to begin with 'And then Harry was a girl and lived happily ever after' - she has some things to go through first.


End file.
